princesssusan:
I guess diariss fire on da mountain

Which of the mountains, aunty?

New Direction Kontinyus....
Sir Maigida was under no such fear, he was sure of the efficacy of his charms.
‘It has happened, sir, the elections have been postponed!’
‘Why?!’ About seven throats cried out simultaneously.
‘Something about the Electoral Commission not being prepared enough to organize free and fair elections in two days’ time. I just got a call from the Capital.’
‘That can’t be true; our state is prepared and ready!’ Chief Mike stated forcefully. His worst fears were coming to be. He remembered Ezekiel’s words and shook his head; those same words that had gladdened his heart an hour before.
Mrs Olatunde winced in an effort to control her twitching face and hurried out of the hall. She was no longer comfortable there.
‘When is the new date for the elections?’ Sir Maigida’s voice was calm.
‘It has been shifted by two weeks, sir.’
Sir Maigida shook his head slowly and left the hall for his office. With heads bowed like mourners in a funeral procession, others silently filed behind him.
***
Many reasons were given for the postponement of the elections. On one hand was the alleged inability of the Electoral Commission to achieve seventy percent distribution of voter cards nationwide; on the other hand was the alleged lopsidedness even in this poor distribution percentage with some party's supporter bases being heavily favoured while others were barely served. There was also the case of the military, which had become major players in the provision of election security, declining availability on the initial date, citing active engagements elsewhere. This, some quarters insinuated, was actually an armtwisting move by the Federal Government which had previously attempted to get the Electoral Commission to postpone the elections without success; these suggested that the police was actually a better option for providing security during civil activities like elections. All of these didn't matter - the elections had been postponed.
The shift in the dates for the elections was a game changer in the state. While the C.A appeared to have exhausted their campaign strategies, the D.A appeared just emerging. They had been short on time for the production of another documentary, but now had it. It didn't matter, the quality of the documentary, what mattered was the message. And they had an even more powerful message this time.
Governor Paul Igbobia had invited Dr Magareth Ikpehia to the Governor's House the very night the news of the polls shift came in. He had ordered that she be led to the second sitting room, where he usually welcomed important guests. He was already waiting when she was shown in.
'Your Excellency, good evening, sir,' she greeted with a disarming smile.
'Dr Magareth, you are welcome,' he replied, offering his hand for a handshake. 'Please, sit down.'
She chose a setee on the left of his coat of arms customized seat and waited ever so slightly for the Governor to sit first before she did. Though in a deep blue tracksuit and brown leather slippers, he still looked every inch the Governor. How the opposition came to describe such a man as focus-less still baffled her.
'You were able to make it so early; I was thinking you will give an excuse of Master withholding you from making it tonight?'
By "Master", she knew the Governor referred to her husband. Her smile widened.
'He will arrive the country tomorrow morning - has been away for almost a week now.'
'Oh, I see...'
'He's a perfect gentleman and wouldn't have stopped me even if he were around,' she quickly added to make facts clear. 'My husband expects me to be as professional as possible in whatever I do. He trusts me and trusts my decisions.'
'I see,' the Governor repeated, with light clapping. This woman would have made a very good running mate to Chief Umeh. He had never thought of it before. 'That's a great man!' He had met with her husband, Dr Jude Ikpehia, only twice. A very quiet man he was; that he had noticed on both occasions.
'Thank you, Your Excellency.'
'Do you know that that title can sometimes sound burdensome? I'm happy I will soon be dropping it.' His laughter rang out.
Dr Magareth Ikpehia said nothing. Behind her smile, she wondered if the Governor had invited her for mere small talk.
'You must be wondering why I invited you this evening,' Governor Igbobia sat up, his tone suddenly formal. It was a tone she was used to, the type he used during party meetings. 'Have you heard of the shift in the dates of the elections?'
Her face expressed surprise. 'Oh! Exactly what we wished for!' She would have asked questions to be sure of the authenticity of the information had it been someone else, but not His Excellency.
'You can say that again. That is why I called you here this evening, cos this extra two weeks must be well utilized by the party.'
So they had two extra weeks? It greatly gladdened her heart. 'Yes, sir; I have been worried by our inability to meet with the women from most of the Local Government Areas. You know Mrs Olatunde's sudden exit affected our plans on that.'
The Governor nodded: 'But that's not exactly why I invited you here.'
Dr Magareth sat up, leaning in the Governor's direction as if she was hard on hearing. What exactly did he want?
'You remember the strategic rumours we generated on Mrs Olatunde?'
She relaxed a bit. 'Yes, Your Excellency.'
'One point stood out amongst the rest - especially to me.' He observed the lines on her face go taut in apprehension, but decided to continue at the same measured pace. 'I have been thinking about it, and would have found out, whether or not the polls were shifted.'
Dr Ikpehia decided not to get worked up over nothing. She took in a deep breath and released it in little spurts to calm down. He could take all the time he intended, he was the Governor.
Governor Igbobia did; he apologized for having not offered her anything and asked what she would take. She declined taking anything, citing health reasons, but on his insistence accepted water. A steward served them water and withdrew. That moment, her phone rang. It was her husband. They spoke for two minutes before he hung up.
'That was my husband, sir,' she said apologetically.'
'As if I didn't know; hope there's been no change in plans?'
'No, Your Excellency; he's still arriving in the morning.'
'That's good.' He placed his half empty glass of water on the stool beside him and sat up. 'Now, Dr Ikpehia, I know you will now be anxious to know why I invited you this evening?' The official tone was back on. She nodded. 'It is about Mrs Olatunde and drug addiction. Is she truly addicted to drugs?'
To be Kontinyud...

New Direction Kontinyus...

'It is about Mrs Olatunde and drug addiction. Is she truly addicted to drugs?'
An instant frown came on her face. She hadn't thought it would get to this when she suggested that that information be included in the rumoured documentary. Mrs Olatunde had been a very close friend of hers, in fact her closest in the party before her departure. She had been the first to know of Mrs Olatunde's intention to defect to the Congress for Advancement and might have joined her had her husband not strongly advised against such a move.
'Interests may be a strong propelling force in politics,' he had said when she hinted on a possible departure from the Democratic Alliance, 'but I think some persons should be principled enough to negate the general impression of all politicians being selfishly wowed by pecuniary inducement.' His countenance was unusually serious.
She had kept silent, even holding her breath, when he added: 'It's your life and it's your choice to make, my dear.' He had smiled and she had too.
The message was passed and clear, despite her husband not being forceful about it. She made a choice, the choice to swim or sink with the D.A.
If there was anyone within the party who knew about Mrs Olatunde's can of worms, she was. They were together in Mrs Olatunde's house one day when she observed her friend's face start twitching; she had wondered what was wrong with her friend and was getting further alarmed when she saw Mrs Olatunde stagger towards a shelf of books. Wondering why she needed a book that moment, she was alarmed to see Mrs Olatunde fish out a syringe from behind the books. Its tip was fitted with a needle already. Mechanically, her hand went there again; this time it produced a vial, the head of which she broke off with her thumb. With her eyes shut, Mrs Olatunde had withdrawn the yellowish liquid from the vial and injected herself in her left wrist.
She had been too dazed to act, to even say anything. She watched her friend stagger to the closest chair and slump in it, with eyes shut and an ethereal smile on her lips. The twitching soon stopped. Mrs Olatunde had remained in that position for five minutes before slowly opening her eyes. Life had gradually crept back on her face and her smile had become more natural. She still nursed the syringe and vial.
'Never mind, it happens that way sometimes,' she explained.
Dr Magareth was shocked at what she had just witnessed; she never had an inkling that her close friend used drugs.
Mrs Olatunde went on to explain how she had been introduced to drugs while in London by an African friend of hers. Then, she had some problems with the home office and was under the threat of repartriation, a problem that eventually forced her to marry Paul Moyes, a Scottish farmer's son who could barely afford his fees at the University. Their marriage had produced two kids - Jason and Wayne - before their eventual breakup. She had never loved Moyes, who was four years her junior; it had been a union of convenience.
'But you could have dropped this habit by now?' Dr Magareth finally found her voice.
'That's true; I have occasionally overcome the urge, but it always eventually overpowers me. You know, there are those pressures one feels that nothing else seems able to take away.
'It's becoming less frequent, though; sometimes I could go for weeks if there's no upsetting catalyst.'
Dr Magareth had nodded understandingly, though unable to understand why Mrs Olatunde would allow herself to remain under the clamphold of drug addiction. Her husband, who was a medical doctor, had once educated her on the processes of overcoming drug addiction. It wasn't a walkover, but very achievable. Considering her status, Mrs Olatunde should have already submitted to the processes and freed herself of drug addiction.
'Is she truly addicted to drugs?' Governor Paul Igbobia repeated.
Dr Magareth Ikpehia nodded slowly: 'Yes, she is, Your Excellency.'
'Then the documentary would be produced, the documentary about her.'
Dr Magareth Ikpehia had managed to hide her surprise and, on further prodding by the Governor, had spent the next twenty minutes revealing how she came about the information.

To be Kontinyud...

Ohibenemma:

Which of the mountains, aunty?

C.A mountain 4 sure

There's a saying in politics, that read; "No permanent enemy nor friend in politics" .


Think I understand that statement now, somehow ;
Some days back, Mrs. Olatunde was her friend, a clossest one per se, now today because of some self ish interest, she's now an enemy. That's politics shaa



Oya Oga, continue tha good work

princesssusan:

C.A mountain 4 sure

Hmmm!

harjibolar10:



Oya Oga, continue tha good work

Thanks.

New Direction Kontinyus...
...about the information.
***
The tide was clearly turning; the unity within the C.A was no longer as compact as it used to be. The documentary on Mrs Olatunde, a two hours production, had turned out even more damaging than that on Sir Maigida. Though they still went on occasional attacks, their media department were now more tasked with defending the party. They slammed the D.A for broadcasting such character assasinating documentaries, when the focus was supposed to be on issues. They called on the 'drowning' party to focus on showing the people what they have done and what they intended to do. This, the papers claimed, was lacking, which was why the 'outgoing party' was doing everything to drag their challengers into the mud in which they were already wallowing. According to the Patriot Newspaper:
This is the first time that the entire focus of a government in power, while canvassing for votes, would be on the inconsequential while the consequential begs for attention. Their every action has served to reveal how much there is a dearth of plans in their fold to move this state forward. That they broadcasted a pack of lies against Sir Maigida, a man of unassailable integrity wasn't enough, they have since hung on the elections postponement to produce another pack of lies on Mrs Olatunde, the running mate to the Governorship candidate of the C.A, Chief Mike. It shouldn't be surprising if tomorrow witnesses another hurriedly put together pack of lies... We know the people are wiser now and will ensure that these lies don't deter them from voting out a focuss-less party come this weekend. We urge them to be vigilant until we flush out these agents of stagnancy and march on to the New Direction...
Chief Mike read the papers that morning, but didn't derive the kind of satisfaction he usually got from them. The articles appeared dry, like the efforts of one exertedly flogging a dead horse. He wished for some satisfaction elsewhere, any form of inspiration he could get for that day's rally.
His wife was on her knees, doing her morning prayers while he sat up in bed, reading the paper. How she managed to derive any satisfaction from her everyday ritual baffled him. He needed that kind of assurance, the assurance that there was a higher being positively disposed to him; a higher being that could guarantee him success in the elections, that could assure him on the fruitfulness of his efforts. His opponent, Chief Umeh had been reported severally of visiting pastors for prayers; the papers had criticized that move, describing it as last minute jerks borne out of desperation and he had thought so too. Then, the C.A was still the favoured party, riding like a bulldozer, crushing whatever stood in its way. He could do same, but would that not be playing into the hands of his detractors? Would the media not be awash with his images, calling him an unprincipled man? Maybe, he could make such a move at night, but would the ever-attentive press not find out and liken his move with that of a sneaking thief? He got his phone from the drawer beside their bed and dialled his friend, Chief Obi's line. As it was connecting, he got off the bed and moved out of the bedroom; on one hand he was trying not to disturb his wife's prayers, on the other hand he didn't want her overhearing the complaint he had to make.
'That's a small problem,' Chief Obi said after listening to him. 'I have been there before.'
For all he knew, the older Chief Obi had never been involved in active politics, but he obeyed anyway as his friend requested his presence for a one-on-one meeting.
One thing led to another and that afternoon, leaving his car in Chief Obi's compound and sneaking off with Chief Obi in the latter's inconspicuous Toyota Camry, they were driven to a village one hour's drive from the state capital. There, inside a tiny hut lit with candles and with the walls adorned with bones - human bones, Chief Mike drove a knife into the belly of a fourteen year old boy. Chief Obi and a potbellied man clad with only a piece of red material from his waist down to his knees witnessed it. He felt a sick sensation in his tummy, but that was it. The deed was done.
At the rally, four hours later, Chief Mike was at his best. Though the crowd wasn't as boisterous as those of the early days, his confidence wasn't dented. For the first time in his political career, he felt the presence of a higher being favourably disposed to him.
That same night, he was driven in another of Chief Obi's cars to a part of the city he had never been to all his life. There, in a big white-painted mansion, he was given a black robe to wear and made to lie inside a casket for thirty minutes. When the casket was opened, now inside a different room from that in which he had entered it, he saw himself surrounded by fourteen faces, faces of men clad in red robes. One of them was Chief Obi. At the far end of the room, seated on a dias, while all others were standing was a man holding a red robe apparently his; before he could express his surprise, he was pushed down by strong hands to lie prostrate before this man. Seated was Sir Babagana Maigida!
***
A changed man he became after that. Every obstacle had to be cleared, every barrier had to be broken and every means had to be employed to grab the mandate of the people. Ezekiel was a cultist too; this Chief Mike learnt from Sir Maigida. Theirs was a patron cult of Ezekiel's. Now he knew why the young man had always been so confident, now he knew why he had severally suggested what he termed better usage of the boys. Now Chief Mike gave in and two days after, the state owned television house went up in flames. It wasn't a perfectly executed act as only some files and furniture in the General Manager's office were affected before the fire was put out. The next target was the state owned newspaper company, which was burned down completely. This time, they went as far as fabricating an accident at the gate of the Fire Service, such that the firefighting vans, for over thirty minutes, couldn't exit their premises. Ezekiel counted this as a big victory; there was no way the paper would be able to publish any propaganda against the opposition until after the elections. They would go on to kill a female Local Government Chairmanship aspirant and burn two campaign buses belonging to the D.A.
The sudden rise in the spate of violence got Governor Igbobia seriously worried. While he was sure the opposition was responsible for the attacks, neither his private investigative team nor the police were, yet, able to gather any reasonable clues. He went on air to condemn the attacks and assured the people of ongoing investigations to unravel those responsible. He even claimed that the police had gotten some leads, which would lead to nabbing the culprits; this was a barefaced lie to calm the agitated minds of the people and take the wind out of the sails of those responsible.
To be Kontinyud...

Hmmmm thirst of power

politics have always been a dirty game but they r going too far

all of them na de same jor

ride on Ohi u r really doing a good job

princesssusan:
Hmmmm thirst of power

'maka why?

kingphilip:
politics have always been a dirty game but they r going too far

all of them na de same jor

ride on Ohi u r really doing a good job

Thanks a bunch; hoping to finish this today. God help me!

Ahnahn, just to win election

Aipete2:
Ahnahn, just to win election

Yes O! Before nko...

New Direction Kontinyus...

...out of the sails of those responsible.
It turned out a fruitless move, for unknown to him, some D.A party chieftains were planning reprisals. Two days later, some gunmen, who confessed to having been sent by a D.A party chieftain were nabbed in the premises of The Patriotic Voice Newspaper house. It was a big goof on their part for, while they initially claimed to be there on their own accord, the police soon discovered that there had been series of calls between them and a chieftain of the D.A; swift investigations soon revealed their mission which was to kidnap the Manager of the company and torch the building. It was a failed move, a shameful one at that, one that really annoyed the Governor. He knew the opposition would capitalize on it and that they did the next day through the Quarterly Herald:
We are ruled by a desperate bunch; a set that must be kicked out by all, though peaceful means. We have witnessed the recent spate of violence in the state, and have reached the single conclusion - the D.A is really desperate for power. This explains why morality has been, so far, lost in their move to retain it. Like the case of an unrepentant robber, who wouldn't mind shooting himself in the arm to prove his innocence when nabbed, the so-called Democratic Alliance - of which we don't see any democratic pointer - will not mind burning down the whole state just to misle a few more and garner a couple more votes.
The recent arrest by some gallant policemen of daredevil bandits, determined to add the Patriotic Voice's building to the list of other media houses that have been visited by their baptism of fire, aptly showed that justice, no matter how delayed, would always eventually catch up with the criminally minded.
The big question now in the hearts of many is why; why did Governor Paul Igbobia embark on that shameless attempt to absolve the D.A of any blame in the attacks? Could it be that he was clueless as usual or that lying had become so ingrained in the D.N.A of the Desperate Alliance?...
The paper went on to allege how the D.A had intended to misle the people of the state by attacking the same state owned media organizations that had been their ready tools for misinforming the people, only to garner some sympathy, before proceeding to the real targets - opposition sympathetic media organizations. It was a failed plan, the paper declared, like many previously failed plans of theirs which had ensured that the state remained stagnant and even retrogressive on many fronts.
It was very bad publicity, something for which Governor Paul Igbobia strongly slammed the party chieftain responsible before secretly securing the boys' release. They weren't even intelligent boys, he was soon informed; mere rat poison sellers who had only their bulging biceps going for them. Why the man wouldn't secure the services of professionals baffled him. Their actions and inactions always came back to it, these party people. The newspapers never mentioned them; it was always him being referred to as clueless, focusless and desperate to install his stooge in power.
Was he really desperate? Could the opposition sincerely assert that he desired Chief Umeh's victory more than Chief Mike desired it? He remembered the two times they had met; Chief Mike had appeared like a no-nonsense man. He had also sounded ambitious. It hadn't dawned on him then that the C.A would pounce on the man; he might have done so first.
*** *** ***
Chief Mike was restless, the election was only four days away. He had done everything humanly possible to emerge victorious at the polls - he had spent a fortune, so much he wondered how he could recover if he failed to clinch victory. The two weeks postponement had meant fresh election expenses, it had meant the C.A losing more ground to the ruling party, it had provided the D.A more time to effect their slanderous moves against the C.A. It had also meant his foray into the occult, his first human sacrifice, his first advocacy for violence. He knew the violence wouldn't stop; the killing of the fourteen year old boy had created an urge, an all-consuming urge that had prompted him to order - just that morning - an attack on Josh Alli, who had publicly announced his exit from the Congress for Advancement, despite being a candidate of the C.A to the State House of Assembly. Though the youngman with great followership at his Local Government Area was yet to publicly announce the party he was defecting to, Chief Mike already knew it would be the D.A, thereby further weakening his chances. Ezekiel had advised and he had agreed that Josh was better dead than alive.
Sir Maigida had always appeared calm, but he couldn't be sure if he actually was. He was sure the man was aware of his responsibility for most of the recent violent acts in the Capital, though Sir Maigida had never questioned him about them. Not during party meetings; not in the cult meetings. And the self-injecting, drug addicted deputy he had chosen for him - yes, he had made investigations and found the documentary on her to be true - he would fix the woman once they got into power. Ezekiel would arrange it, they had discussed the plans already. It would either be an arranged car crash in which her car would be mangled beyond recognition and thereafter set on fire or getting her vial compromised, such that she would ignorantly inject herself with a mamba venom mixed vaccine and quickly meet her death. Ezekiel had further suggested a replay of the stunt at the gate to the Fireservice, such that it would be impossible getting medical help early enough, if at all, such came up. It was foolproof, unlike the poor planning by the boys who attacked the Patriotic Voice Newspapers.
He was getting more hardened every day while appearing more compassionate on the outside. Only the previous day had he slapped his wife; it was the first time in their marriage. Who was she to demand full details of his every outing?
For the first time, he had met her awake on his return from the cult meeting.
She had been waiting for him, she claimed, demanding to know where he was coming from.
He had lied that it was a party meeting, but had been shocked when she informed him that Professor Imonikhe had twice called the house to enquire after him.
'Why are you looking like that? I thought you were together at the meeting?'
'What are you insinuating?'
'That you stop lying and tell me what you've been up to, returning to the house around 2 a.m. three times in the past two weeks.'
So she hadn't been asleep those times he thought she was? Well, it didn't matter; he wasn't going to allow her control him anymore.
'I've been busy, the election is close!' He had said with venom, hoping she will notice this and recoil.
'And so? Are you the first person contesting for an elective post?!' She replied with equal venom.
She didn't see it coming, she couldn't have expected it - he had never done it before...the sudden swish of his hand as his palm landed on her face. He was shocked himself at the impact, but that was only awhile. He wasn't the man for nothing, Florence had to learn to respect that.
He had left her in the sitting room afterwards and was in the bathroom when he heard her footsteps in the bedroom. She was out before he emerged and never returned till his exit from the house that morning. She had to be somewhere in the house, maybe one of the guestrooms, though it didn't matter. That same morning, he had visited a skills acquisition centre where he had donated fifteen sewing machines. The event was covered by four newspaper companies.

To be Kontinyud...

just joining in the forum but so far so good

vcume:
just joining in the forum but so far so good

You are welcome...

New Direction Kontinyus...

... The event was covered by four newspaper companies.
Without a knock, Ezekiel opened the door and walked into the office. He closed the door and moved closer to his boss.
'Josh Alli still lives...'
'Huh?' Chief Mike asked, alarmed, 'didn't we agree on finishing him?'
'He's invalid now and should be for the rest of his miserable life.'
'Really? How did you do it?'
Ezekiel had proceeded with the details: How they had, dressed in police uniforms and flagged down Josh Alli's car in the middle of nowhere. They had accused him of going over the speed limit and hadn't allowed him any opportunity to protest as they dragged him out and pushed him into their own car. They had seized his phone when he attempted making a call; his target had been the State Traffic Management Unit. A fine chop at his occiput sent him into a blackout, a condition he remained until their arrival at the location where Ezekiel awaited them. The boys had expected Ezekiel to order Josh Alli's execution, but he had, on second thoughts, asked them to rework his bones. The process was slow and excruciating, but at the end, Josh Alli emerged as intelligent as an slowpoke.
Chief Mike got goosebumps listening to Ezekiel's account. The young man made it sound like an every day occurence, like he had done it several times in the past, and he was tempted to ask.
'Good job,' he said instead, 'but we cannot rest on our oars. Only four days more...And hope you left no clues?'
'Those boys are professionals; even Josh Alli's car is clean.'
'Perfect!' Chief Mike opened his suitcase, lying on the desk and took out a bundle of cash from it. This, he threw at Ezekiel. 'That's for the boys. Give them a break until 4PM. Get the others on standby.
Ezekiel pocketed the cash, nodded and took his leave.
Chief Mike released short breaths to steady himself; the rate of his heartbeats had risen in the course of Ezekiel's narrative. He noticed his hand was shaking too, those boys were really terrible.
But he felt a kind of excitement - the excitement of living above the law. The Police could continue with their endless threats, but it didn't stop him from plotting the next victim of his overwhelming urge - the desire to take a life.
His quarrel with Florence the previous night came on his mind; he felt he should have done more than a slap. It could have been a punch or even a kick on her fat behind. He doubted if she would have felt that - the fats would sure have absorbed the pain. But she had to realize her true place in his home: That her dad had been responsible for setting up his business when his own parents were killed in a ghastly motor accident was no excuse for her thinking she could run his life for him. That she had vouched for him when her dad doubted his industry didn't mean she should become his master, enjoying all he worked for while sleeping and eating at home. And her sneers...he could kill her for those sneers, yes he could. What wife would sneer while her husband spoke of his aspirations? And now, the election was only four days away; he really could kill her.
He could kill her. Could he really say Florence was a Governor's wife material? With those bulbous fatty layers, did she in any way appear like a state's First Lady? Did her experience with the Ladies of Hope in any way equate with the expectations of a Governor's wife? He could kill her and get a slimmer, prettier and younger lady - yes he could kill her.
He would arrange it to appear like an accident - the kids would understand. He would shed tears and make a statement on how supportive she was of his cause and how wicked Mother Nature was to deprive her of the fruits of her labour just when she was about to start reaping them...he laughed out loud and hard.
*** *** ***
Governor Paul Igbobia was seated in his office. Opposite him were Chief Umeh and Architect Salau. While Chief Umeh appeared at ease, Architect Salau - small, fair and round faced and timid smiles, didn't look too comfortable. Governor Paul thought Dr Magareth Ikpehia would have made a better running mate than the architect, but kept that thought to himself. It was too late, anyway.
'Your Excellency, I think we have run a very effective campaign, sir; what is left is for the people to choose aright,' Chief Umeh said; his voice was deep and well groomed.
'Those two weeks really helped us, and the documentaries went a long way too,' Governor Paul replied. His eyes caught those of Architect Salau, who turned away immediately.
'We hope the people bought our message. The only problem is the sudden increase in violence; we never had it this bad.'
'And the police haven't been able to do much,' the Governor lamented. 'We have tried all to get them mobilized, but nothing appears working.'
'It means they are dealing with professionals. It is difficult catching pros anywhere in the world.'
'Unlike those dudes sent by that local chief in our party. They would have done better joining the local boys eager to pick a fight after every rally.'
'Those useless clowns! But for them I might have considered commissioning a hit-sqad too.'
'I almost shed tears seeing Josh Alli yesterday, the man has been rendered invalid; his only use to his wife and children till his death would be his pension.'
'I think it will be in place to have a policy for such political casualties?'
'And get those papers whining?' Governor Igbobia let out a chuckle. 'We can always render assistance to such without making noise and we can then limit it to those of our party.'
'Yes, I was forgetting that, Your Excellency.'
'Tomorrow, I will want the best for the last; we must show them that we can match promise for promise, oratory for oratory and money for money. We must win this election.'
Chief Umeh hoped the Governor was proven right. He still harboured fears on his chances at the polls. The initial storm of the C.A had been greatly unnerving.
'But most of those promises being peddled by Chief Mike can't be achieved in ten years!'
Governor Igbobia smiled. 'Still make them - that's what the people like to hear.' His eyes caught those of Architect Salau again, and like before the man quickly looked away. 'Don't you think so, Architect?' He shot at him. The man hadn't said a word since they initially exchanged greetings.
'Yes, Your Excellency,' he replied, coughing slightly to clear his chocked voice. Then he smiled shyly.
Governor Igbobia shook his head in regret; Dr Magareth Ikpehia would really have made a better candidate.
**************************************
Chief Mike felt some anger as he mounted the rostrum. An attack, the previous day, intended to be carried out on Architect Salau had failed. Not only had it failed, but two of his boys were caught in the process by the police. Architect Salau and his boss had left the Governor's office together; but while he had immediately proceeded home, Chief Umeh had decided to see the Commissioner for Transport who was within the premises.
A policeman was attached to Architect Salau, but unknown to him, security teams organized by the Governor escorted both him and Chief Umeh to wherever they went within the state. The Governor had thought that the gang busy wrecking havoc on D.A members and facilities was likely to target one of them soon. This had turned out true, for Chief Mike's boys who had patiently awaited his exit from the Governor's office for over an hour started trailing him. The security team behind suspected the sinister motive of occupants of the car between them and Architect Salau's car. The driver was obviously attempting to get to him, but the rush of the evening traffic wasn't making things easy for them. It was only a matter of time before Architect Salau's car would enter the grounds of the posh estate where he lived. Once there, the traffic would almost be non-existent and the men would be able to strike.
They had to be proactive and upped their speed too. Just as the architect's car slowed down at the gate to the estate, they came behind the car carrying Chief Mike's boys. They were right in their assumptions for, while others appeared unarmed, the fourth guy, seated at the back seat was carressing a battle-axe on his lap. The boys were about to overtake Architect Salau's car, when they were cut off by that of the security team. They would have reacted differently, but were too surprised to. The two who tried to raise weapons were immediately shot dead, prompting the remaining two to instantly surrender. The operation was smooth and before Architect Salau realized what was happening, the two boys had been handcuffed and led into camouflaged security van.
Though Ezekiel had advised him to be calm, Chief Mike couldn't help feeling the boys would soon be forced into spilling the beans.
'They won't dare it,' Ezekiel had affirmed, they are under oath never to.
'Even under the threat of death?'
'Even in death!'
Chief Mike eyed Mrs Janet Olatunde, standing a few metres away on the podium; the plans to finish her off were still on - if only those boys didn't talk. His wife's too...she was seated beside his now empty chair on the podium. He surveyed the chanting crowd, some waving the party banners. There was the group of students, furiously gyrating, oblivious of whatever was going on on the podium, there was the group of market women in their customized wrappers and blouses, making shrieking sounds at whatever was said; he doubted if they understood half of what was said from the rostrum. There was the green vested group in white fez caps bearing his portrait at the far end, blowing vuvuzelas. He wondered how those close to them could hear what was being said. There were the many other groups, most distinguished by their gaily coloured, customized vests.
'My people,' he said, breaking the tradition of using the party's acronyms for once, and the response was rapturous. His eyes quickly went through the writing pad already set on the rostrum for him. 'I come before you today not as a happy man. I come before you today not as a satisfied man; I come before you today as a broken man. You may wonder why - especially when you take into consideration my position on the social stratification ladder, but that privilege is also my curse...' He could feel his wife's sneer where he stood. It burned through him, scalding his conscience, but he shook it off. 'Many have spoken before me, and I won't like to bore you, repeating what has already been said.
'But, one thing I ask for is this: give me the opportunity to lead you in the new direction...' He was interrupted by rapturous cheers again. 'I said my privilege is my curse; it is my curse to eat three square meals while my people can't eat one, it my curse to be secure while my people live in insecurity, it is my curse to be able to afford my needs while my people can't even get gainful jobs, it is my curse to live in a good house while my people live under the bridge...it is this desire to break my curse that has led me to offer myself for service...' Once again the cheers and vuvuzelas came on. 'I have wept in the private, and I won't like to weep in the public...' He dapped his eyes with a handkerchief. 'I lay down my abundance, intelligence and will that our dear state may move in the New Direction! Thank you.' He shot up his right fists and so did the crowd as the cheers, shrieks, drums, trumpets and vuvuzelas came on.
His eyes caught a group of policemen move into the rally ground and his heart skipped a beat. He managed to maintain his composure until he got to his seat, into which he sank heavily. Florence pursed her lips and looked away, he didn't care.
Professor Imonikhe went on stage next. He was still trying to calm the crowd when Chief Mike was startled back to reality by Ezekiel's touch. He had suspected the worst.
'What is it? Did you see those policemen?' He whispered raspily.
'Yes, sir. I knew you might be worried by their sudden appearance and got onto them. They are only making routine security patrols.'
Chief Mike's sigh was audible. 'Thank you very much,' he said pressing Ezekiel's hand and relaxed as the young man went back to his position on the fringes of the podium.
'Hope I did well,' Chief Mike asked Florence.
'You know the answer,' she replied; 'you saw the people's reaction.'
'Hmmm,' Chief turned to watch Professor Imonikhe on the rostrum.

To be Kontinyud shortly...

New Direction Kontinyus...
...'Hmmm,' Chief turned to watch Professor Imonikhe on the rostrum.
**************************************
They were in his expansive sitting room, Chief Mike and some party supporters; Ezekiel and the boys were there too. It was three hours after the elections. The widescreen wall television was on while music blared from the strategically placed woofers. The Electoral Commission had slated the the announcement of the polling results for 8P.M. and it was ten minutes to eight. Florence was inside the bedroom, watching the television there. She couldn't stand the uncultured manners of the men in the sitting room.
The whole place smelt of alcohol. Some had been drinking since their return from the polling booth. Chief Mike, his eyes reddened and a appearing a bit dazed moved from chair to chair, a glass of beer in his right hand. He clinked glasses with a few of them, acknowleding their hails with a nod and loud, guttural laughter. Some images came on the screen, images of burnt structures, cars and those of some interviewed victims. Ezekiel smiled metally; the boys had been responsible for most of the carnage, even Josh Alli's car came on the screen. It was a report on the violence that had preceded the governorship elections, a report he cared not about.
He watched his boss with amusement, the man was obviously drunk. The good thing was that, aside himself, every other person was tipsy. Otherwise, he would have found some of the things Chief Mike was saying very embarrassing. They weren't words one would expect of a Governor, not words one would expect of a respectable person.
'My Governor, my Governor!' One of the men said. He clinked glasses with Chief Mike, who smiled.
'Yes, I will change everything, I will ensure the good life for all.'
'The Governor!' Another hailed.
'I will chop and you will chop, and we all will chop! You see this house? I will build a bigger one, a better one befitting of my status.'
'His Excellency!' Yet another hailed.
'That is me! What is delaying these clowns from making the announcement?'
Chief Mike's confidence was on solid ground; preliminary reports had greatly favoured the C.A. It had prompted even the party chairman, Sir Maigida, to phone him earlier, congratulating him in advance. This had prompted him to order for crates of drinks for some supporters from his unit, who had been involved in the massive mobilization of voters for him. These ones had opted to remain with him until the announcements were made. Previously, his wife would have frowned at the rowdy state of things in the sitting room, she would have complained about his drinking; but not anymore. She was gradually getting to know her place in the scheme of things, but it was unfortunate she still had to die.
The clock struck three minutes to eight and Florence adjusted on the bed and increased the volume of the television. While a part of her wanted her husband to win, another part was indifferent. She had no qualms with his losing anyways. He was getting on an ego which needed some pruning. Maybe a loss was going to provide that.
The logo of the Electoral Commission came on the television screen; all sounds ceased, both from the television and the sitting room where they hadn't been listening to the television reports. The logo slid off the screen to reveal the state Electoral Commissioner, a professor of Criminology who had been reassigned to that role only the previous week. The man, Professor Ohibenemma, looked up from the computer tab on the desk before him - hidden behind the many tagged microphones belonging to various media groups - and briefly introduced himself and the Resident Commissioners in charge of the Local Government Electoral Commissions in the state. He thanked them all for a work well done, thanked the police for providing adequate security in the course of the polling and thanked the National Electoral Chairman for finding him worthy of such an important role. It wasn't what many wished to hear. In their minds and with their eyes, they willed him on, hoping he would skip the whole ceremonial nonsense. It wasn't so for, patiently, he went through it all.
Chief Mike, who had since taken a seat, was now much better sobered than before. He could feel his heart thumping harder as the results from the different Local Government Areas were read. Ezekiel was busy writing the figures in a jotter. The C.A had polled almost seventy percent of the votes in Mrs Olatunde's Local Government Area, but hadn't been so dominating in any other. Infact they lost woefully in the Capital, with the D.A carting away about seventy five percent of votes. This, Ezekiel attributed to the documentaries which had changed the opinion of many concerning the integrity of those at the party's helm of affairs. The other Local Governments, except Chief Umeh's, were close with either party taking it. In Chief Umeh's, it was another big loss with the D.A hitting them about sixty seven to thirty three. Things no longer appeared as rosy as they had previously appeared.
They waited with bated breath as the figures were totalled. Professor Ohibenemma slowly read out the figures of the total votes cast, invalid votes and valid votes...and then the winner.
"I hereby declare Chief Umeh as winner having polled a total of..."
Chief Mike collapsed in a swoon, prompting fearful cries from some of the men in the room. Ezekiel was beside him in a snap, giving directives as he attempted to revive his boss.
Florence heard the cries faintly from the bedroom, but she thought the men were only expressing surprise at the result.
The same minute that Professor Ohibenemma was calling on the party agents to sign the result sheet was the same minute some officers from the State Security Service were knocking on Chief Mike's gate. With them, in handcuffs, was one of the boys who had attempted to attack Architect Salau. That same minute, some policemen were at the entrance to Mrs Olatunde's house, wondering why no one was answering their knocks. They would find her some minutes later, unconsciously sprawled on a sofa, an empty syringe beside her. The television was on.
THE END...

Wow. Ohibenemma thanks for pulling this through despite the low turnout of comments u really deserve some commendation

well Nigeria goes to the poll today and I hope the best candidate to lead the people forward will b elected today

kingphilip:
Wow. Ohibenemma thanks for pulling this through despite the low turnout of comments u really deserve some commendation

well Nigeria goes to the poll today and I hope the best candidate to lead the people forward will b elected today

Thanks! Thanks! Thanks!

I had to pull on some inner strength to scale through. Felt it would be a failure abandoning the story halfway. Just do help me call on the mods.

Seun, Lalasticlala, Obinoscopy...

Wow! Wow! Wow! This was beautifully done! But you bad small O! Chief Mike should have won nau! After everything...

Ishilove, Seun, Obinoscopy

Honestly dis is really beautiful..thank God Chief Mike didn't win If not, he'd v killed everybody.

emmaphina:
Wow! Wow! Wow! This was beautifully done! But you bad small O! Chief Mike should have won nau! After everything...

Ishilove, Seun, Obinoscopy

thanks for the compliments. Bad? I don't think so O; as someone noted below, losing was the best thing for the desperate lunatic he was becoming.
E for fit kill everybody O!

labaski:
Honestly dis is really beautiful..thank God Chief Mike didn't win If not, he'd v killed everybody.

I tell you! Thanks for thinking this piece beautiful.

This was great.

Wait, are you a PDP supporter?

missterious:
This was great.

Wait, are you a PDP supporter?

A PDP supporter? Not really; I would rather describe myself as a neutral person. Why do you ask?

Sorry it came late...

All politician are one way or the other, have not only skeleton in their cupboard, but with a complete flesh in their cupboard, none of them can be trusted

Oga, you've done well

harjibolar10:
Sorry it came late...

All politician are one way or the other, have not only skeleton in their cupboard, but with a complete flesh in their cupboard, none of them can be trusted

Oga, you've done well

You got the point! Either way, you find yourself unable to SINCERELY stick out your neck for any. What we've been seeing, especially in Nigeria, are cases of persons ignoring the log in their eyes and condemning the speck in their neighbours'.
Came late? I don't think so; most persons were too busy with voting and all that yesterday. Thanks a lot.

Wooooow! This is awesome da truth prevail at last, weldone si!